


A cathartic notion at the bottom of the ocean

by Dadbeat



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23182291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dadbeat/pseuds/Dadbeat
Summary: To be fair to the scions, they could have picked a better spot for this.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 1
Kudos: 46





	A cathartic notion at the bottom of the ocean

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this languishing finished in my docs but literally hadn't posted just because I couldn't think of a title. It's 1:30am and I can't sleep might as well yeet it onto the internet I don't even care anymore orz
> 
> Written pre patch 5.2 but it's compliant enough I guess. Written with my WoL in mind but works well enough for gen mWoL anyways enjoy I guess lol

When the Warrior of Light wakes, he is alone. Before, this would not have been unusual - indeed, he was rather infamously isolative when not saving the world, preferring a quiet retreat into books and training. Trysts were few, and trysts that ended with someone in his bed in the morning were even fewer.

Of course, none of them had been Emet-Selch.

At first he had denied their similarities - after all, the man was an ascian - and had found little in common with the villain. But as they had traveled together, suffered in their own ways under harsh skies filled with light, he had found a strange kinship with the once-emperor of Garlemald. Before the end of that journey it became clear to the Warrior that both of them carried the hopes and dreams of an entire people on their shoulders and expected to cope. Behind words unkind at best, downright nasty at the very worst; behind disdainful looks down that prominent nose and furrowed brow had been soul deep weariness the Warrior knew well. For his part, Emet-Selch had done a remarkable job of hiding it - his losses unimaginable to himself and the Scions til the bitter end, when they had been forced to fight within the ruins of everything the ascian had held dear, that he had held dear.

Amaurot.

He had not returned to the ghostly city proper since that night - the wounds still too raw and revelations still too painful to contemplate. Not even after he'd pulled Emet-Selch - Hades - from the Lifestream, or after they'd finally ended up in bed together, ancient souls reunited at long last.

All of this singularly explained why waking alone now felt so strange. Within their odd little band of world-saving heroes the ancient had quickly established himself as "least likely to wake during a calamity - except perhaps to shut the drapes and tell them to _'keep it down out there, would you?'_ " That he'd woken early was in and of itself a concern, and so the Warrior turns to a power he, until recently, had not even known he possessed - though to his credit had he known he wouldn't have been able to properly make use of it anyhow.

He concentrates, and in his mind's eye he sees their Bond shimmer into existence, the connection inexorably leading to his missing friend and lover. From his room in the Pendants it stretches due west for many, many malms.

It makes perfect sense. It makes horrible sense. His stomach churns with worry.

The man practically launches himself into his leathers before slipping with practiced ease into Norvandt's aethernet, the anchor one he knows well despite seeing little use. Mercifully upon landing the Ondo Cups are still dry- Bismarck's fae magic holding the crushing sea above solidly at bay. 

He feels for the Bond again. Emet-Selch is closer to here than the Macarenses Angle. He isn't sure if it was a lucky guess, or if the nature of their relationship has allowed him to intuit it, but is relieved he made the right choice regardless.

Waving to the sahagin who recognize him, he hustles out of the encampment towards the terminus of that glowing thread. He makes good time despite having to avoid a roaming cluster of anemones, and spotting Emet-Selch is trivial when he gets close - a smear of white, red and gold among the denizens of the deep.

The ascian stands hunched over, forehead resting against one of the many ruins in the area. Drawing up beside him, the Warrior sees Emet-Selch's hands are pressed to the stone as his shoulders shake with silent sobs.

Slowly, gently - as one might approach a wounded animal - the Warrior puts his own hand to Emet-Selch's back, sliding it around to the man's shoulder and pulling him into an embrace.

"Hades." His voice barely carries over the soft sounds of crying and his own breath, labored from his haste. "I was so worried when I awoke and you were gone."

One of the ascian's hands drops to his side. The Warrior clasps it in his own.

"I…" Emet-Selch looks positively lost. Aurum eyes are open but unfocused, mouth drawn downwards in a soft, sad line. He blinks slowly, and features smooth, tightening into a familiar mask of disinterest - though his gaze is still a million malms away.

"...I apologize for worrying you." He straightens, but does not move from the other's touch. "Rest assured I am well - I merely indulged an impulse. Nothing more."

The Warrior hums, tunelessly, before pressing a kiss rough with stubble into bedraggled locks.

"I can remember enough for it to hurt, you know. I miss it, too."

"It's not the same, Hero." Emet-Selch's tone is bitter. The Warrior does not hold it against him.

"I know. But that doesn't matter." He's rocking slowly from one foot to the other. Back and forth. Back and forth. "That doesn't change that it's gone."

Tears prick at his own eyes, now. So many losses. So many lives thrown away to their mistakes. So much they could have done differently, if they'd only had the chance.

"But -"

He struggles to find words for how he feels, in this moment. Those mistakes had brought them here, together despite every misstep. 

They had defied fate - and won.

"- It's okay. It's gone but it's okay." His grip tightens. Emet-Selch hiccups.

"Home is wherever you are."

\-------

It takes Urianger and the Exarch several long, agonizing hours to trace the Warrior of Light's tomestone signal. 

A livid Thancred and an exasperated Alisaie collect them, the latter dragging both men into the Ocular by their ears.

"We were all worried sick! _**What do you have to say for yourselves?!**_ " the gunbreaker snaps.

Emet-Selch and the Warrior look at each other, then at the scions. For a long moment, nobody speaks.

"In our defense," the Warrior says, "We didn't plan on napping in the 'middle of the godsdamned ocean', as you so delicately put it."

He sheepishly scratches at his jaw.

"But I can't say that I'm very sorry." He leans, looking entirely pleased, against the bleary-eyed ascian next to him. "It was a very comfortable spot."


End file.
